


Yoghurt

by Severina



Series: Alphabet Soup [25]
Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: 1_million_words, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 16:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5593462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The best part about getting shot by the genius leader of a crime syndicate bent on destroying the world's economy, Matt discovers, is that he gets to spend his recovery time sharing a hospital room with the superhero cop who kicked the bad guy's ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yoghurt

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's 1_million_words community for the "Y" prompt at the A to Z challenge
> 
> * * *

The best part about getting shot by the genius leader of a crime syndicate bent on destroying the world's economy, Matt discovers, is that he gets to spend his recovery time sharing a hospital room with the superhero cop who kicked the bad guy's ass. At first, when they switch him from the awesome morphine to the less seductive Demerol, that just means a lot of moaning and twisting in the sheets, because _holy fuck his shin hurts_. Also, that part is kind of embarrassing, because John McClane is all stoic and shit, barely even wincing when the nurses come in to abrade his shoulder wound. 

But once he gets a couple of days under his belt the pain abates to the level of _I want to saw my leg off below the knee_ from the previous _someone please shoot me in the face and end this agony_ , and that's when he can truly appreciate the benefits of his accommodations. Like discovering that McClane has little half-moon glasses that he wears when he does the Times crossword, and that he looks damn sexy when he peers over the top of them to glance at him when Matt makes oh so pithy comments such as "wow, you're pretty good at those, huh?"

Matt would blame the Demerol for his total and complete lameosity, but his brain pretty much short circuits when McClane is around.

He also gets the added bonus of seeing McClane strip down to a tattered pair of pajama bottoms three times a day when the nurses change his gauze, and the chest and arms revealed during those times are everything that the snug Henley hinted at. More, even. The first time John peeled off his pale blue hospital gown to show off that chest Matt is fairly certain he made some small, involuntary sound, because McClane looked up sharply before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the nurse. Matt might have gotten flustered and started rambling about the ache in his leg and the insufficient level of pain meds he's receiving, but he also saw the corner of McClane's mouth tip up in a little bit of a grin that indicated that maybe his whimper of admiration wasn't entirely unappreciated.

So Matt spends the few functioning brain cells he's still capable of accessing when he's not staring at John's abs trying to figure out how to build on the occasional smirk that John throws his way. And while he's certainly able to converse on a variety of interesting subjects – and sometimes he can make John smile and one time he got a full out guffaw that made him realize he wants to hear that laugh again and possibly for the rest of his life – he still seems to be stuck in Comedic Sidekick mode. It's the role he's always played and he's used to it, but it'd be nice to break the mold and move into Leading Man territory.

Problem is, he can't seem to find anything for them to bond over. He can wax poetic about _Halo_ or who really shot Kennedy, but McClane is more interested in how the Mets season is going and someone named Michael Vick who, Matt surmises, is either a football player or a dog trainer. 

Then he notices that the nurses are popping into their room in between gauze and abrasion sessions. Janice with a "saw this magazine down in the lunch room and thought you might like to take a look, Detective McClane" and Margo with a "why don't we open these curtains so you can see your book a little better" and never mind that the sunlight stabs right into Matt's eye sockets, oh no, gotta get good sunlight for the hot detective, and the pretty blonde with a "Mr. Carlson in 3B didn't want his yoghurt so I thought you might like another one, John."

And McClane flirts with every damn one and the pretty blonde blushes every time and okay, fine, he's jealous. 

And no one ever brings _him_ extra yoghurt.

"Yoghurt?"

Matt glances up, distracted from trying to decide on the exact shade of bile-yellow of his blanket, which is what he usually does when he's trying not to whimper in either pain over his shattered shin or frustration at McClane's interest in the nurses. "Huh?"

"Yoghurt," John repeats, shaking the container like maybe Matt's blind as well as a total gimp. "Candy said that Carlson didn't want it."

Candace. That's the blonde's name. With the big blue eyes and the perfectly coiffed hair and the flawless complexion. Even her name is sweet. He wishes he could hate her but she's just too damn nice.

"I heard her," he grunts out. Grumpily. Because even if he can't hate Candace he can still hate the damn yoghurt.

"Not a fan of the stuff," John says. "You want it? You seem like the yoghurt type."

Matt decides the blanket is probably _citrine_ , and pushes it aside to narrow his eyes at the man in the other bed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

John doesn't even wince when he lifts his healing shoulder. Matt can't even bend his big toe without yelping in pain. It's totally not fair. 

"Hippy dippy granola sprouts organic bullshit," John answers. "That type."

Matt isn't sure if he should be offended or praise McClane on his ol' detecting skills, because he _might_ have a membership at Sal's Whole Foods and also be one stamp away from collecting a free hemp-nut shake at Bohemian Childe. It almost seems like it's wrong to let McClane get away with knowing he nailed him in one, but when the Birkenstock fits…

"Is it strawberry?" he asks.

John squints down at the plastic container. "Buncha different berries."

"I'll take it," Matt says. He's reaching for the call button to summon one of the nurses to help them out – and praying it's not Candy who shows up – when John waves a hand at him and lurches out of the bed, even though he's got about seventy five cuts, scrapes and bruises and a busted shoulder and has been told expressly by at least two different doctors that he's on strict bed rest until he heals up. But before he can protest McClane has made it across to his bed and is pressing the chilled container into his hand and he doesn't think it's his imagination that John lingers just a little longer than necessary with their fingers touching before he ducks his head and sidles back to his side of the room.

Matt's smile is a whole lot wider than necessary over scoring a free dessert but he still can't seem to wipe it off his face. And when he finally gets the nerve to glance over at John settled down again in his own bed, he notices that John's gaze is fixated firmly on the beige wall – and that the corner of his mouth is upturned in a little smirk of his own.

Matt shakes his head and reaches for his spoon. He's been so concerned about finding common ground with McClane that he overlooked the simple stuff.

Maybe they can start with yoghurt.


End file.
